


A Conspiracy of Love

by catatonic1242



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bad Poetry, Beer, Cheesy, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Cussing, Drinking, Fluff, Furniture, Gift Giving, Guitars, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Presents, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catatonic1242/pseuds/catatonic1242
Summary: The idea of Misha crafting him something for Christmas annoys Jensen.  It annoys him because Misha always gives better gifts, while Jensen usually just gives him tea (and teabagging jokes).  This year, Jensen is determined to get it right.





	A Conspiracy of Love

**Author's Note:**

> _“Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”_ \- Hamilton Wright Mabie
> 
> Thank you to the Cockles folks on tumblr who were gracious enough to share their headcanons about these idiots. Many of them have been incorporated here. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr.](https://catatonic1242.tumblr.com/)

Danneel's face is turning red and she is trying in vain to suppress giggles. "Okay, so, look. I love you," she manages to squeak out between snickers. "Please don't take this the wrong way - "

Jensen interrupts her. "It's awful." He crumples up the piece of paper into a ball and tosses it angrily aside.

"Hey," she answers, managing to gain her composure. She leans down and snags the paper ball from where it has rolled to a stop near her feet. Unwrapping it and smoothing it out against the leg of her jeans, Danneel looks at it, her eyes skimming down the sheet. "I mean," she tries helpfully, "maybe don't rhyme 'gesture' with 'fester'. Maybe don't use the word 'fester' at all. Not in a love poem."

"It's not a 'love poem,'" Jensen sighs, burying his face in his hands. 

"Jens - "

He stands up from the couch. "Nope, this was a dumb idea."

"Hey, it's not dumb, come on..." she calls, but he is already out the door.

*****

It is a dumb idea. 

When Jensen watched the video on Twitter of Misha using a chainsaw while wearing flip flops, it worked him up into a bit of a frenzy.

"What a stupid motherfucking... I'm gonna kill him if he doesn't accidentally kill himself," Jensen said.

"It's Misha," Danneel answered. "He'll be fine. And we’ll still love him even if he only has seven toes."

Jensen shot her a look and she rolled her eyes in return.

"Hey, who's he making a Christmas present for, anyway?" she’d asked.

And now look at him. Stupid fucking Misha and his stupid fucking Christmas present.

*****

The idea of Misha crafting him something for Christmas annoys Jensen. It annoys him because Misha always gives better gifts. Obscure but topical books with heartfelt inscriptions, the kind that are perfectly sincere without being corny. A leather cuff that Misha made himself and stamped with Jensen's initials. Even the goddamn hand-knit purple beanie had been perfect - it fit just right and was heavy enough to keep his ears warm but light enough that the rest of Jensen's head didn't sweat. 

Jensen tries to give great gifts. He puts a lot of thought into them, spends a lot of time shopping, but never seems to get it just right. Jensen always ends up giving Misha a gift card and boxes of tea. Which he knows is lame. He gets it. But try as he might, he can’t ever manage to find the right thing. 

Which is why he started writing a poem. A truly awful, no good, very bad poem. It felt like something Misha would do, and so if Misha was going to build Jensen a goddamn... whatever... then Jensen could write a poem. 

Except he couldn't. 

*****

Danneel tilts her head to the left and squints. Then she widens her eyes and moves her head to the other side. She puts a finger thoughtfully to her lips as she circles the small, unfinished end table. 

Jensen watches her anxiously. She looks up at him, then down at the table again. When she finally speaks, it’s to say, "I don't want to be critical, I really don't."

Jensen rolls his eyes and throws up his hands. "You hate it. It's horrible."

"Hey, I do not 'hate' it," she says quickly. "I'm just wondering...." Danneel tilts her head back again. "I mean, is it supposed to lean that much to the left?"

Jensen walks to stand next to her and stares at the table. It’s obvious, and he kicks himself for not seeing it - the legs on the left side of the table are a good half inch shorter than the ones on the right. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh my god." Jensen strides up, kicks the table and then stalks away. 

"Babe!" Danneel calls after him. "Come on, I'm sure we could just get some shims... A lot of shims," he hears her finish with a mutter. 

Alright, so no furniture building, either. Time for more drastic measures, Jensen figures. 

Jensen unlocks his phone and scrolls until he finds the familiar number, then presses dial before he can talk himself out of it.

“Yeah, hi - I want to make an appointment…”

*****

Danneel gasps and lets out a noise that can only be described as a squee. "It's perfect!" she exclaims, studying his Christmas gift for Misha. 

Despite himself, a small smile creeps onto Jensen's lips and his eyes light up. "Really?" he asks. "You're not just saying that? Because, honestly, I feel kind of ridiculous..."

She shushes him and says, "Jens, it's really fucking perfect." She reaches out but doesn't touch it, just ghosting her fingers in the air over it. 

Jensen looks down at her. "I mean..."

"Stop!" she insists. "He's gonna love it."

*****

Three weeks before Christmas, at their apartment in Vancouver, Jensen realizes that he didn't think his plan through very well.

It's the timing that's the problem. Jensen's stripped to his boxers and he has Misha's cock in his mouth when it hits him.

"Uhhhh," Jensen says around the mouthful of dick. 

"What?" Misha asks, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Jensen releases Misha's cock with a small pop. "No, nothing, I just, uhhhh..."

Misha rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you said that. What are you 'uhhhh'ing about?"

"Shit, I gotta..." Jensen thinks fast, can practically feel the steam coming out of his ears from how quickly his mind is racing. "Hey, how about I top tonight?" he tries.

Misha blinks rapidly and sits all the way up, an alarmed look passing over his face. "Jensen, in the nine years we have been sleeping together, you have never once wanted to top."

"Hey, I - "

"Never. Once." Misha interrupts him to repeat. "You are the bottomiest bottom I have ever known. If I thought you actually wanted to top, I'd be all for it, obviously, but… what is going on?" 

"Christmas," Jensen says flatly. 

"'Christmas'?" Misha repeats as a question.

"Look, oh my god, just..." Jensen tries one more time. "Can you please just come on my face tonight?"

Misha lifts his chin and narrows his eyes. "I mean, who am I to deny you that? But there's something else going on."

Jensen shakes his head and wraps his lips around Misha, sinking all the way down onto him. It's enough of a distraction that Misha doesn't ask any more questions, and when he does come, it's all over Jensen's lips and mouth and cheeks. 

Jensen uses his hands and mouth to distract Misha for the rest of the week. Somehow, he manages to keep Misha preoccupied enough that the subject of Christmas never comes back up. 

*****

Finally, it's the night of the winter break wrap party. It's the last time they'll see each other before Christmas, and Jensen is tipsy and quickly working his way toward drunk-as-fuck.

He started out thinking that he needed a little liquid courage if he was going to reveal his Christmas gift to Misha that night. Five beers and two shots later he finds himself wondering if the gift was stupid, if he's stupid and if beer in general is stupid. 

By the sixth beer, Jensen has decided that beer itself is definitely not stupid. He has also decided that he is so not stupid and that his gift is a great fucking idea. 

"You ready to go?" Misha says, sidling up to him and winking. 

"Yes!" Jensen practically shouts.

Misha glances down at the bottle Jensen’s clutching, then gently takes it from his hand. "Alrighty. Come on." He threads Jensen's arm around his and walks them out the back door. 

The cold Vancouver air sobers Jensen up somewhat, and by the time they're at the car, he's reevaluated and decided that he is, in fact, stupid. He remains undecided on beer, though.

"Hey, let's go get burgers!" Jensen says. He's still buzzed enough that he thinks stalling Misha might actually work - that if he can just distract him a little while longer, Christmas will come and go and they'll never have to talk about gifts at all. 

"We literally just ate at the party," Misha says, putting the car into drive and pointing it toward their apartment. 

"Yeah, but I can always eat again!"

"I think you're confusing yourself with Dean," Misha says with a chuckle. 

Jensen sinks down in the passenger seat and puts on an exaggerated pout. 

"Come on, I want to give you your Christmas gift," Misha says, placing a gentle palm on Jensen's thigh. 

Jensen grits his teeth. 

*****

Jensen is suddenly stone-cold sober.

"It's... holy shit. You built me a guitar?" 

Misha is sitting next to Jensen on the couch, watching him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I mean, it’s nothing super special, probably isn’t even technically correct... “ he trails off.

Jensen holds down the strings and plays an E minor chord. It’s perfect. 

"You... fucker," he says. He places the guitar reverently down against the coffee table, then stands up and stalks out of the room. Jensen goes into the bedroom and slams the door behind him.

Moments later, Misha's on the other side of the door, knocking softly. "Hey..." he calls. 

Still in a snit, Jensen yanks the door open, startling Misha. "You fucking fucker," Jensen hisses at him. "You built me a fucking guitar."

"I'm... sorry?" Misha says, holding his hands up as if in surrender.

Jensen slams the door in his face. Three seconds later, Misha opens it and slides just barely into the room. He stands with his back against the doorframe and asks, "So... bad gift?"

"Perfect fucking gift," Jensen practically yells, plopping angrily down onto the bed. "Perfect fucking gift, because they're always perfect fucking gifts. Every goddamn time!"

Misha walks over and sits down next to him. "What is going on? What did I do?"

"You built me a guitar," Jensen answers, flopping all the way down onto his back.

"Okay, I think we've established that I built you a guitar. What I am trying to understand is why you're angry about it."

Jensen rolls his eyes and stands in one quick motion. He turns his back to Misha. "Let me show you what I got you for Christmas," he says. 

Misha falls silent as Jensen unzips and lowers his pants. Jensen stands there long enough to feel even more ridiculous than he ever thought possible, then hikes them up again, spinning back around to level a glare at Misha. "See? See?"

Several beats pass before Misha opens his mouth and near-whispers, "You got a tattoo."

"Yeah, I know, right, you built me a guitar and I got a stupid tattoo. You win! You always win!"

Suddenly, Misha is on his feet in front of Jensen, kissing him aggressively. When Misha finally pulls away, his eyes are starry and his voice is soft and reverent. "You got a tattoo. For me."

Something unclenches in Jensen's chest at the look on Misha's face, but he doesn't say anything. 

"Let me see it again."

Jensen turns away once more and pulls his pants down. 

There's a small flutter behind him as Misha squats down to study it. Then there's the warm touch of fingers tracing the ink. "Is that..." Misha clears his throat, and Jensen twists his head to look down. "Is that Enochian? Because you know that I don't actually speak Enochian."

Jensen feels ridiculous again and tries to move away, but Misha grabs him by a hip. "I just mean, tell me what it says, Jens."

"Oh my god." For a brief moment, Jensen wishes that the earth would open up and swallow him whole. Finally, he blurts, "It's your damn name."

"Holy shit," Misha says, his words an echo of the ones Jensen said. "You... holy shit."

"I know, right?" Jensen finally breaks out of Misha's grasp and manages to get his pants back up. "Like I said, you win!" he spits, tugging at his zipper. 

Misha blinks blankly at Jensen, and when he speaks, the words are halted. "You... got a tattoo. Of my name. You wrote my name on your skin. Permanently."

The words tumble out of Jensen's mouth. "Yes, I did, because I am a stupid fucker who is in love with a jackass who can write poetry and knit hats and build fucking guitars, apparently, and I can't do any of that shit. I mean, I tried, but apparently you can't say 'fester' in a poem, and my table was lopsided, and I'm not even gonna try to learn how to knit, because I actually have testicles - "

At that, Misha smacks him lightly on the arm.

Ignoring him, Jensen continues, "and I'm tired of giving you tea and then making teabagging jokes, and giving you me was the best thing I could think of. And it's stupid."

"Holy shit," Misha says again. He reaches out for Jensen and with rough palms on either side of his face, Misha kisses him. 

Misha seems to sense when Jensen is finally speechless, and he pulls away to look him in the eye. "Christmas is not a competition," Misha says. "And if it were, you'd win." At Jensen's skeptical look, Misha adds, "Hats get lost. Poems can be forgotten. You giving me you, that's permanent."

Jensen scoffs. "I can always have the tattoo removed."

"Shut the hell up," Misha insists, kissing him again. When they part, Misha tugs on Jensen's hand, dragging him back toward the living room. "Come on. I want you to take your pants off and play me the guitar while I look at my present."

Jensen rolls his eyes but lets himself be led away, a small smile creeping onto his face.


End file.
